


Weakness in Relief

by ScottieIsImpatient



Series: Tears in Solace [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm is struggling, Tuckerreed, author STILL cannot write romance, the plot is not thought out entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: It's been three weeks since the explosion that caused Malcolm to lose feeling in his right arm. Though Phlox has assured him he will regain mobility, Starfleet wants to withdraw the Lieutenant until he's fully healed.While Archer deals with Starfleet, Malcolm deals with his budding relationship with Trip. The worry is suffocating, and things won't be getting easier any time soon.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Series: Tears in Solace [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803229
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pressured into making a sequel, don't look at me.
> 
> Okay really, all due respect, thank you to Rowan for pressuring me into this. Now I can hurt Malcolm even more! (...are you sure this was such a good idea?)
> 
> Yes, this is part of a series now. I would recommend reading the previous work to really understand this one. Subsequently, you don't have to read this if you already read the last one. I quite like where Strength in Pain ended tbh, and it's your choice whether you want to leave the ending opening or keep reading. 
> 
> That being said, if you are reading, thank you! I hope you'll find this just as enjoyable (and just as angsty hehehe) as the last one.

“Let’s up the intensity to level five,” Malcolm mutters to himself as he taps in the code. Doing things with his left arm is difficult to get used to, but he’s starting to get the hang of it.

The only thing he needs to work on is his shooting.

Malcolm takes one last glance around the armoury. Being near two in the morning, it’s practically empty, but Malcolm knows how well his officers are at sneaking around. He trained them himself, for christ’s sake. He isn’t paranoid.

Fortunately, it seems no one has managed to sneak in during the last five minutes. Malcolm’s shoulders relax. He picks up the phase pistol and turns back to the program he wrote especially for himself. “Start simulation.”

The first target pops up almost immediately. He takes it down in one hit. A second one appears out of the corner of his eye, and then a third.

_Buzz._

One miss. That’s alright. He’s only a few seconds in, after all.

_Buzz. Buzz._

Malcolm closes his grip tighter around the phase pistol and grits his teeth. He can _do_ this. He could get up the level ten on his right arm- surely, he can reach at least half with his left?

He gets a few more shots in but it’s not enough, and the program shuts down after five misses. Malcolm lets out a groan of frustration – something he wouldn’t normally do if he weren’t alone – and tosses the phase pistol onto the desk before collapsing onto a desk chair like a lump. Level four isn’t enough for the chief tactical officer. Level four is barely enough to pass the bloody exam, never-mind go on away missions.

Malcolm screws his eyes shut, rubbing his temple with his middle and fore finger. The Captain is still fighting the battle with Starfleet. A battle where Malcolm’s next steps lie in the outcome.

He hates being so unsure of his future.

The armoury door slides open and Malcolm quickly leaps to his feet, spinning on his heel so he’s facing the target practice simulation. He pretends to be writing in some code as careful footsteps draw nearer.

A warm hand rests on his shoulder and a gentle kiss to his forehead follows. “What’re you doin’ up this early, Malcolm?”

“Trip,” Malcolm mutters, turning to face him. Trip has a blanket draped across his shoulders, trailing along the floor. “You must be getting that all dirty,” Malcolm remarks.

Trip’s eyes shift to the blanket, then back up at Malcolm. A grin spreads across his face. “Nothin’ I can’t wash. You didn’t answer my question.”

 _So much for avoiding the question._ Malcolm sighs. “Getting my target practice in.”

Trip raises an eyebrow. “At two in the morning?”

“It’s quiet,” says Malcolm, turning back to the screen. “I’d rather not put on a show for the whole armoury to see.”

“Hm,” is all Trip responds with. He watches over Malcolm’s shoulder for a minute, clutching the blanket tighter around himself. Is it cold in the armoury? Malcolm can’t tell. He’s not as sensitive to the cold as Trip.

Finally, Trip asks, “gettin’ any better?”

“A bit,” Malcolm replies honestly. “Still can’t get past level five.”

“Naw. You’ll get there.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm says under his breath, not wanting Trip to hear the defeat in his voice. There’s only so much the armoury officer is willing to let show. He picks up the phase pistol again. “I’m going to give it one more shot-”

“Nuh-uh,” Trip interrupts. Malcolm turns to look at him.

“Excuse me?”

“No more target practice.” Trip gingerly takes the phase pistol from Malcolm’s hand and sets it on the desk. “That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

“You’re off duty. _Commander._ ”

“Aw, Malcolm,” Trip mock-whines, flashing his famous Tucker puppy-dog eyes. Malcolm tries to hide his smile. Not well enough, it seems. “I saw that!” Trip exclaims. “C’mon. I’m lonely.” He tugs the blanket tighter around himself. “And it’s cold.”

Malcolm’s smile grows. He is feeling rather tired, after all. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Come again?” Trip asks, blinking in mock confusion. “I must have heard you wrong.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Malcolm teases. He shuts down the simulation and sets the phase pistol back into its holster before locking the cabinet. Trip stands patiently by the door, watching him. Malcolm shuts down the lights in the armoury and the two head into the corridors.

For once Malcolm is grateful the Captain has only the essential crew on duty for the night shift. They run into not a single soul on the way back to Malcolm’s quarters. Out of habit, though, Malcolm flinches when Trip takes his hand and starts squeezing it. “Any feeling?”

“A bit,” Malcolm replies quietly. “It’s tingling a bit more than usual. Phlox said it’s a good sign- means I should be able to wiggle my fingers soon.”

“Translation: means you can pull a trigger soon.” Trip’s eyes twinkle mischievously. Malcolm laughs.

As they step into the elevator, Trip gives Malcolm’s hand another squeeze and says, “why don’t you give it a try?”

“Give what a try?”

“Squeezin’ my hand.” Trip grins encouragingly. “Go on. I think I’m entitled to know some o’ yer progress.”

Malcolm, realizing there’s no possible way to get out of this, sighs in defeat.

He actually has to concentrate on this small action, and the outcome is less than satisfactory, but he might as well have waved his whole arm around for all the excitement Trip’s expression displays.

“Amazin’, Malcolm!” the engineer exclaims, just a little too loudly. Malcolm’s gaze drops to the floor as Trip gives their hands a little shake. “You couldn’t do that last week, could ya?”

“No,” Malcolm mumbles. “Trip, it’s really not that much, I don’t see-”

“It’s a step,” Trip tells him firmly. The elevator doors open. “A step towards getting’ yer normal life back.”

Malcolm’s face falls. He forgot that Trip wasn’t privy to the information Archer gave him a few days prior.

_“They want to send you back, Malcolm. They want to pull you off duty until you’re completely well again.”_

Trip frowns as he notices the mood change. “Wha’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Malcolm says hastily. He tugs on a fake smile before giving a very real yawn. “I’m just bloody tired, is all.”

“Serves you right. Tha’s not the first time you’ve been down in the armoury this early, I’d reckon.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?”

“Hell no.”

Malcolm gets about three hours of shut eye in total, which, compared to the six he got last night, feels like almost nothing at all. Though he doesn’t want to admit it for fear of hurting Trip’s feelings, he sleeps better alone. He wonders how Trip stands it. The bunks are barely big enough for one person; let alone two.

Speaking of Trip, he’s noticeably absent when Malcolm wakes up for the fourth and final time. Malcolm stretches his fingers out, seeking the warmth of the engineer, but is met with only cold sheets and half of the blanket hastily thrown back. Sleepily, Malcolm cranes his neck to see the clock.

0720\. Knowing Trip, he must already be down in engineering.

Malcolm pulls himself into a sitting position and yawns. While he would have loved to have been ready much earlier, he suspects Trip didn’t want to wake him. _I’ll have to be more careful,_ Malcolm thinks. A pang of guilt strikes him immediately after. He never meant to hide anything from Trip, but Trip could be… well, overbearing at times. His reaction in the elevator last night was a testament to that.

Malcolm yanks the loose grey T-shirt from his body and reaches onto his clothing shelf for his uniform.

Ten minutes later – his hair combed, teeth brushed, arm in its sling – Malcolm leaves his quarters. A couple of ensigns on their way to their posts wander by. He catches Tanner among them and offers the officer a nod.

His body aches a lot more than usual today. The scars on his arms and face have begun to flare up, making him a bit self conscious whenever someone’s’ stare lingers for just a bit longer. His arm isn’t completely numb, but it’s a strain to move his fingers. Malcolm decides to leave it alone for the time being.

The thought of food makes his stomach turn so he skips right past the mess hall, heading for the elevator instead. Though Phlox hasn’t cleared him for complete active duty, Malcolm has his own stubborn streak to thank for the fact that he’s allowed up on the bridge. Staying cooped up in the armoury would drive him insane. He likes being on the front lines; he likes knowing in advance what the plan is. Being informed via comm after the fact is not an easily accepted ideal for him.

Naturally, all faces turn to him as the elevator opens. Archer’s splits into a wide smile. “Good to see you, Lieutenant.”

“Likewise, sir.” Out of habit, Malcolm’s shoulders straighten in attention. He catches Hoshi giving him grin and flashes one in return. Then he heads over to tactical and takes over for Ensign Meng, who pretends she’s relieved to have the responsibility off her hands. She disappears to the back of the bridge and starts lending one of the crewmen a hand.

Normally, Meng would have gone down to the armoury. Malcolm half expects Archer to _order_ her to leave, but he knows it won’t happen. As long as his arm is limp and useless, Phlox has advised for a backup tactical officer to stay in case the ship needs to engage in strenuous activity.

For once, Malcolm finds himself wishing they _won’t_ run into any trouble. How strange, Commander Tucker would surely say.

“How’s it looking out there, T’Pol?” Archer addresses the subcommander.

“There is a Minshara-class planet directly on our current heading,” the science officer responds smoothly. “There is a record of the inhabitants in the Vulcan database. The planet is called Desan and the inhabitants are known as the Desani.”

“How many?”

“Three billion. They are spread out over the northern continent.”

“Why just the northern?” Hoshi chimes in. T’Pol’s eyes flicker ever so briefly towards the linguist.

“It would seem that the southern is too a high a temperature for the Desani to survive. However, the database describes a number of ancient structures along the coastline. The Desani know almost nothing about them.”

“Mysterious ancient structures,” Archer echoes slyly. One doesn’t have to be a genius to know he’s already figured out what the crew is doing next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are! Chapter two- a bit ahead of schedule. 
> 
> It's still susceptible to change because of this, though. I am trying to lengthen this fic by including more of the crew featured more prominently. (Definitely not because I cannot write tuckerreed fluff. Hm. Nope. Definitely not that.)

The Desani are a rather quiet people who communicate more often with a form of sign language than vocal sounds, a challenge which Hoshi takes on with eagerness. According to the Vulcan database, the Vulcans found communication challenging and stayed no longer than two days.

“So basically, they got frustrated?” Trip comments over Malcolm’s shoulder. The two of them are in the mess hall, Malcolm catching up on his breakfast while Trip reads five PADDs at once.

Malcolm smirks. “They would deny it.”

“Well, o’ course they would! No Vulcan wants to admit they have-” Trip gasps dramatically “- _feelings._ ”

“No one ever said Vulcans are incapable of feeling,” comes a familiar monotone voice. Malcolm’s stomach drops.

“Er, subcommander.”

T’Pol raises an eyebrow at the two of them. “We do not deny that we have feelings,” she continues. “However, we are able to suppress them until they are, as you would say, practically non-existent.”

“So, yer saying these Vulcans _did_ get frustrated at the Desani?” Trip ventures.

T’Pol gives him an unreadable look, a slight shrug, and promptly walks off.

“For a people who suppress their emotions,” Malcolm says, “they sure do have a flair for the dramatic.”

“I’ll say. Hey, what do the Desani do for radio contact then?” Trip starts flicking through one of the PADDs. “If they use their hands to talk, how does that get transmitted?”

“They have the capacity for video transmissions,” Malcolm reads, “however, if a transmission is audio only, they do have a spoken language. It says here it’s mostly used for off-worlders though.”

“They’re used to aliens passin’ through?”

“Seems like it.”

“Huh.” Trip gives a small smile. “Sounds familiar.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t decide to set a bomb this time,” Malcolm says darkly. Trip’s smile vanishes and an awkward silence settles, immediately drowning Malcolm in crushing guilt. Of course, he had to go and say that. What’s wrong with him?

Trip clears his throat. “Anyway, Cap’n’s talking to one of the leaders now. They got a lot of provinces and he’s gotta go through each one, so it’s gunna take a while. From what I hear, they’re inviting us down to their city before we go off explorin’ their wilderness.”

“Ah, the grand tour.” Malcolm’s attempt at humour fails. _That also sounds familiar,_ he almost adds, but stops himself just in time. “Wouldn’t it be cold up north, though?”

“What- scared you’ll get frostbite?”

“Actually, I’m concerned for you, since you seem to think anything under twenty is “winter weather”.”

“Hey, it _was_ winter weather where I’m from!”

Malcolm shakes his head and takes a bite of toast.

“An’ to answer yer question, Cap’n’s workin’ on those details.” Trip rifles through the PADDs and picks out a certain one. “Away team’s still in the works, too, before you ask.”

“I never said-”

“I can read yer eyes, Malcolm.” Trip grins and reaches across the table to grab Malcolm’s left hand. “It’s not a tactical situation down there. In fact, the whole place is _bloody boring._ ” He mimics an English accent at the last part. “I’m sure Cap’n will bring you along if you ask.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, Trip,” Malcolm sighs. “I’m not comfortable asking to be a part of an away mission unless I deem it necessary.”

“It’s necessary for yer sanity.”

“Trip, come on-”

“Yer one helluva secretive guy but even I know that what you need is some normality.” Trip chuckles. “Everyone needs normality at some point or another.”

Malcolm appreciates the engineer’s words- he really does. _The thing is,_ Malcolm thinks sadly, _you’re not aware just_ how _much I need some normality in my life, and how close I am to losing it._ But he knows Trip would ask him to elaborate if Malcolm said this out loud, so he keeps quiet.

Trip catches something in Malcolm’s eyes, though, and he opens his mouth to ask but Hoshi comes to the rescue at just the right moment.

“You two busy?”

Malcolm quickly tears his gaze from Trip and smiles up at the linguist. “Not at all. Please.” He gestures with his working hand to an empty chair. Hoshi returns the smile and seats herself down, her lunch tray in front of her.

“Is that the information on the Desani?” she asks as she catches sight of the PADDs. “May I…?”

“Go ahead, Hoshi,” Trip says. “How’s it comin’ with their language?”

“It’s fascinating, sir,” Hoshi breathes, her eyes already glued to the PADD. “There’s six dozen dialects and so many little nuances most people would overlook. I’ve learned the basic signs already, but there’s still so much I have to learn.”

“Easier than a spoken language, I take it?” Malcolm asks. Hoshi shrugs.

“They both have their challenges. At least I don’t have to worry so much about verb conjugation, but they also have a spoken language the Captain has asked me to learn.”

“What would we do without ya, Hosh?” Trip grins and pulls her into a one-armed hug.

Malcolm grabs his own breakfast tray and stands up. “I should probably put this away and get back to the armoury.”

“You barely ate,” Trip observes.

“Not hungry,” Malcolm lies. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Trip.”

Malcolm can’t help but notice just how dejected Trip looks and he feels a stab of guilt. “Oh,” the engineer says quietly. “Alright then. Want me t’ walk with you?”

 _Very subtle._ Malcolm catches Hoshi’s gaze flicker between them suspiciously. “That’s not necessary,” he assures Trip. “You won’t find me good company anyway.”

“Oh.” There’s the kicked puppy look again. Malcolm turns around and buries the guilt before he can feel even worse. _It’s better you don’t get so attached,_ he thinks. _I’ll be gone soon._

Admittedly, it’s not the only reason Malcolm turns down Trip’s offer. When he steps out of the mess hall, he turns right instead of left. He’s heading to the bridge; not the armoury.

T’Pol is seated at her station, a cup of tea in her hands. Malcolm isn’t sure he’s ever seen her drink or eat at her station. Crewman Baird is at communications; Travis at the helm.

“ETA?” Malcolm asks the helmsman.

“Eighteen minutes, sir," Travis responds, beaming.

“Very good. Any idea where the Captain is?”

“Uh, I believe he went to his ready room.” Travis nods in the direction of the door. Malcolm thanks the helmsman and bounces back up the steps.

“Come in,” Archer’s voice calls not two seconds after Malcolm rings the bell. Suddenly self conscious of his appearance, Malcolm smooths down his hair and straightens his uniform before stepping inside.

“Sir.”

“Malcolm. A welcome surprise.” Archer smiles warmly. “Is something wrong?”

“Er, no, sir.” Try as they might, there will always be a sense of awkwardness between the captain and the armoury officer. “Well, actually…”

Archer’s face falls. “Out with it, Lieutenant. What’s on your mind?”

Malcolm just barely manages to restrain a wince at the Captain’s harsh tone, and Archer must hear it too, because he softens his voice. “Malcolm.”

“Have you heard from Starfleet?” Malcolm blurts out. He fiddles absentmindedly with his sling.

With a sigh, Archer shakes his head. “Forrest is still talking with the higher-ups. We’ve made some headway, but it looks like it could be a while before I get a definitive answer.”

“They wouldn’t possibly recall me- for _this_.” Before he knows it, Malcolm has taken a step forward and is letting the words come tumbling from his mouth. “I can heal just as well here as I can back there, and Phlox is one of our best doctors. I’m the best armoury officer this ship has. Surely they can’t-”

“Malcolm,” Archer interrupts calmly. “Relax. We’re doing everything we can to keep you here.”

Malcolm, face burning, resumes his original stance. “Right, sir.”

The smile on Archer’s face returns and he rests a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Lieutenant. We’ll keep you here even if we have to kidnap you.”

“I would not advise that, sir,” Malcolm retorts with a ghost of a smile.

The next place Malcolm winds up is sickbay. Not for a therapy session – though Phlox seems more than happy to give him one – but because he’s overdue for his allergy medication.

“All done!” Phlox chirps, pressing the hypospray to Malcolm’s neck. “How is your arm feeling?”

“Like a void,” Malcolm responds dryly.

Phlox cocks his head slightly, the meaning sinking in just a few moments later. “Ah, I see! Not to worry, Lieutenant. It’ll come back when it’s ready.”

“Seems to be taking it’s sweet bloody time.” Malcolm scowls down at it. It’s tingling slightly.

“Can you move your fingers?” Phlox asks.

They wiggle a little bit, but it only makes the tingling worse. Malcolm groans and Phlox’s seemingly permanent smile wavers. “Something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Malcolm assures the doctor. He slips off the bio-bed.

Then, rather involuntarily, a spasm of pain shoots up his arm and Malcolm doubles over. Stars obscure his vision; the room spinning. He’s faintly aware of Phlox’s urgent tone and arms grabbing him, but his arm is hurting so _bloody much_ he can’t concentrate on anything else.

And just as quickly as it started, it’s over.

Malcolm raises his head tentatively. He’s sitting on the floor of sickbay with his knees drawn to his chest, his right arm pinned in between. Above him, Phlox is watching him with a mixture of nervousness and excitement in his eyes.

Malcolm blinks. Excitement?

“Bloody hell,” Malcolm groans, stumbling to his feet. “What happened?”

“You had a spasm,” Phlox explains. As if that cleared things up.

“A what?”

“A muscle spasm. In your arm.” The doctor reaches up and touches part of his face, which is starting to go red, and Malcolm's stomach churns.

“I didn’t… _hit_ you, did I?”

“Hm? Oh, actually, you did!” Phlox's tone does not match the words he speaks. He sounds utterly _thrilled._

“Come again?” Malcolm asks, confused. “I did hit you… then why are you so excited about it?”

“Because, Lieutenant,” the doctor says carefully, “you hit me with your right arm.”

Malcolm’s mouth opens but no sound comes out.

“That can’t be right,” he sputters finally. “You’re mistaken.”

“Hardly. It seems your muscle memory is beginning to return, which is a very good sign! You’re progressing rather well so far.”

“Pardon me, doctor, but it’s been three weeks since the explosion, and I haven’t felt a thing since… well, since this instance. How is that “good progress”?.”

Phlox waves dismissively, collecting up the used hypospray from the floor. “Everyone heals at their own rate, Lieutenant. I should say that the, um, odds of you being recalled have just slimmed down significantly.”

Normally, Malcolm would never let his hopes up. It’s better to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised than to assume the best and be crushed by disappointment. However, he can’t help but feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Any time, Mr. Reed. Remember to come back same time tomorrow, hm?”

Malcolm nods and heads for the sickbay doors, a new spring to his step that wasn’t there earlier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a slow filler chapter. It's not all that important and you can honestly skip it if you want the angst, but there's some fluffy moments I'm pretty proud of. 
> 
> But yeah. Things pick up in the next chapter.

Malcolm is in the armoury fiddling with a scanner upgrade when Trip comes through the door practically skipping, a large smirk dancing on his face. He has a PADD in his hand. “Malcolm!” he calls and jogs over. “Malcolm, I got somethin’ for ya.”

“Will it help with these scanners?”

“Put away yer scanners.” Trip sweeps his arm across the table, almost causing the scanners to go crashing to the floor. Fortunately, Malcolm catches them just in time and shoots Trip a glare.

“Just what-”

“Sorry, sorry,” the engineer says hurriedly. He comes around the table and leans against Malcolm so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, and Malcolm feels his face heat up. “Subtlety” is just not a word in Trip’s vocabulary, it seems.

“Cap’n’s been talkin’ with the city officials for a couple hours and they’ve all agreed on a location for us to visit. I got some photos.”

“Trip, I’m working-”

“Yer gunna be part of the team.”

Malcolm freezes with his mouth open, staring at Trip’s face. The engineer looks somewhere between nervous and excited, as if he just told a very big secret and was waiting for Malcolm to react.

“Why didn’t you clear this with me first?” Malcolm asks, taking the PADD from Trip’s hand. Yes, he’s curious. Is that a crime?

“Because I knew you’d refuse,” says Trip plainly. “You’d wanna stay holed up on Enterprise for whatever reason. Oh, come off it, Malcolm,” he adds as he sees Malcolm about to protest. “Cap’n thinks it’s a good idea. There’s not gunna be any shootin’ to do down there: we’re takin’ a tour and that’s it.”

“Still,” Malcolm mutters. He’s flipping through the photos- the city does look very nice; he has to admit. The bright colours contrast against the icy landscape and the buildings are connected through upper glass walkways.

He glances up to Trip who has an eyebrow raised, watching him with a smirk. “Yer comin’, right?”

“I don’t know, Trip.” Malcolm sighs and hands back the PADD. “I’m not sure a… security officer is what the locals want to see, especially if they’re as peaceful as the reports say. Besides, I-I have a lot of work to do.”

“No, you don’t. Cap’n’s orders.”

“Captain’s orders?” Malcolm sputters.

Trip nods. “It was his idea.”

Malcolm gives the engineer a look. “I highly doubt that.”

“Okay, fine, I may have had somethin’ to do with it.”

“ _May_ have?” Malcolm repeats with a scoff. “Trip, you planned the whole bloody thing. I know you that well.” He gets to his feet and rubs a hand against his forehead.

“Does that change anything?” Trip asks innocently. “C’mon, Malcolm.” Though he’s trying not to show it, his eyes are vaguely pleading. Malcolm brings his hand down and exhales slowly.

He isn’t sure what prompts him to finally admit defeat- what makes him say, “alright, Trip. I’ll go.” Maybe it’s the commander’s expression or maybe it’s because Malcolm doesn’t want to let the captain down. Whatever the reason may be, it’s because of his own defeated answer that he finds himself in a shuttlepod thirty minutes later, tugging gloves on his hands and a beanie on his head.

“Four minutes until landing,” Ensign Carter, the pilot, announces. Malcolm sitting at navigation, does a quick triple check to make sure they got everything correct.

“Malcolm, _relax,”_ Trip says, reaching forward to touch his shoulder. “They’re not gunna kill us if we land in the wrong spot.”

“We don’t know what could offend them,” Malcolm mumbles in reply.

From Carter’s left, Captain Archer lets out a sigh. “These aren’t the Nausicaans, Lieutenant.”

Malcolm doesn’t respond to this, too busy struggling with his left glove. Using his teeth is undignified but trying to wriggle it on is a lot harder than expected.

“Let me,” Trip offers.

Malcolm’s face flushes red. “Trip-”

He can’t bring himself to look Archer – or anyone, for that matter – in the eye as Trip tugs his glove on like he were a child, but out of the corner of his eye, he notices the Captain making a great effort to keep his gaze on the window.

 _So much for keeping things secret,_ Malcolm thinks, but he’s pretty sure Archer’s figured it out anyway. As for Hoshi and Crewman Jones, they’re too busy practicing their Desani sign language to each other to notice anything.

There’s a small welcoming committee to meet them when they land. Malcolm notices that while the Desani are humanoid, the similarities end there. Their skin is covered in fine light blue fur; their eyes are a piercing periwinkle colour and take up a good portion of their face. They wear long scarves, obscuring their mouths, and their clothing is an assortment of colours to match the look of their cities.

One of them steps forward and raises his hands to where his lips would be before extending them to the group.

“It’s a welcome gesture, sir,” Hoshi says. “It’s meant to be repeated.”

Rather awkwardly, the crew copy the gesture back to the Desani. All except Malcolm, of course, who can only use one arm. He tries to pretend they _aren’t_ staring at him.

“Hella cold,” Trip mutters as the Captain and the Desani begin conversing.

Malcolm’s mouth quirks upwards. “It’s really not that cold, Trip.”

“Stereotypical Brit, much?” the engineer replies. “Yer used to weather like this. I’m not.”

“Stereotypical Southerner,” Malcolm shoots back. “And no, I’m not, actually. We get quite a bit of rain, though, but it didn’t snow a lot back home.”

“Hoshi seems to be havin’ a good time.” Trip nods in the linguist’s direction. She’s currently taken to talking with one of the other Desani, her arms bouncing joyfully as she puts her practice to the test.

“Precautions,” Malcolm overhears the captain say. “Usually, we send a small team down first, just to make sure things are okay.”

“Understandable, Captain,” the first Desani replies. “You will not find danger here, though. We have not had war or fighting in four hundred _qadra._ ”

“Qadra?” Archer asks. The universal translator apparently could not quite pick up on the word.

“Desani equivalent to ‘years’,” Hoshi translates.

Archer nods.

“Yes, years,” the first Desani repeats, pointing to the linguist. “She is a talented one. Not many can pick up Desani Spoken so fast.”

“It’s my job,” Hoshi says modestly.

“And, anyway,” Archer continues, “we’re not here in a shore leave. We just wanted to get to know your people a little better.”

“Of course, of course,” agree the Desani.

“Can we get movin’ Cap’n?” Trip blurts out. “I’m startin’ ta get frostbite from standin’ here. Anyway, I wanna get a good look at their buildings. Database had a lot about their architecture and engineerin’.”

“Of course, Trip,” Archer laughs. Then he turns to Ensign Carter. “Ensign, bring the shuttlepod back up to Enterprise. We’ll comm you when we’re ready for a lift back up.”

“Understood, sir.” The ensign pivots on his heel and heads back to the shuttlepod. Turning back to the Desani, Archer smiles. “Lead the way, Mr.…?”

“Corsan,” says the first Desani. “Minister Corsan. This is my vice minister, Tric, with whom you spoke over the communications. Over there is Farath-“ he points to the one speaking with Hoshi “-and this is Nore,” he finishes, gesturing to the Desani behind him.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” says Archer. He brings his right hand to his forehead almost like a salute, then rounds it down so it’s at his chest, thumb towards him. He glances to Hoshi. “Did I do that right?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

As they begin to walk towards what Malcolm guesses to be a compound, Minister Corsan asks, “and you never introduced me to your crew, Captain.”

“My apologies, Minister. This is Ensign Hoshi Sato, my linguist; behind me is Crewman Jones, our cultural scientist, and those two are Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed.”

Hoshi makes the same hand motion the Captain did, so of course Jones follows suit. It gets to Trip, and he does it just fine, if a little awkwardly because of the cold, but when Malcolm goes to raise his only functioning arm, he’s suddenly met with Hoshi’s voice cutting through the silence; “not with your left!”

Malcolm stops walking, breath catching. Heat creeps along his checks. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t dare look up from his boots. Someone talks to him- he isn’t listening. _Pathetic,_ says his mind, _shutting down like this. Utterly pathetic._

“Hey, Malcolm?” Trip asks worriedly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Malcolm mutters. “Sorry. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant,” Hoshi says from somewhere to his right. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Malcolm forces his gaze back up, regaining his composure. “You didn’t startle me. I’m fine.”

“The same motion with your left can mean something awfully offensive,” Hoshi explains quickly. “I didn’t want anything to happen because of a misunderstanding.”

“Quite alright,” Malcolm mumbles.

“You cannot move your right arm,” Minister Corsan observes.

Before he can stop himself, Malcolm’s shot him a glare. “You’re right, I can’t.”

Minister Corsan does not seem to notice the sudden hostility in Malcolm’s voice. “That may be a problem. Our Desani Signing requires the movement of both arms. You are going to have difficulties.”

“I’m already having bloody difficulties,” Malcolm hisses under his breath. Fortunately, no one hears him.

No amount of reassurance can dissuade Malcolm’s nerves when visiting a new planet, especially when he’s asked to leave the captain’s side. It was Archer’s idea in the end- discussing technicalities proved to be too slow for the fidgety tactical officer and the ever-so-curious engineer. Minister Corsan suggested a local museum about the planet’s mechanical history and Archer, like an exasperated father, practically ordered Malcolm and Trip to take a tour.

“…this is a model example of our first transport,” the Desani known as Nore explains, pointing to a rather crude looking thing that resembles an early twenty-first century earth car. Trip drags Malcolm along as he steps as close as possible, a massive grin on his face.

“Just look at these gears,” the commander breathes. “And that- is that the engine?”

“Indeed.”

“Damn. It’s _huge._ ”

“It had to be,” Nore says, “to accommodate for the weight. The first models were made with _yu’karan._ The closest thing you humans have would be steel.”

“You know about Earth metals?” Malcolm asks.

“I did my research,” says Nore, smiling. “Other planets fascinate me. We have no other habitable ones in our system, you see. The idea of far-away worlds fascinates me.”

“Interesting,” Malcolm mumbles.

Noticing his expression, Trip laughs. “I don’t think she has ulterior motives, Malcolm. You can relax.”

“Apologies, commander, but _relaxing_ just isn’t in my profession.”

“No, I can tell.” Trip rolls his eyes.

Nore looks between them awkwardly. “Well,” she chirps, “shall we move on? You seem to be enjoying our history, Commander Tucker. Did you say you were an engineer?”

“Chief engineer,” Trip boasts proudly.

The rest of the conversation fades into the background as a tingling sensation starts in Malcolm’s arm. Sort of like when one gets pins and needles from a limb being asleep too long. He frowns and tries to ignore it, but it’s persistent.

“Malcolm?” Trip’s voice floats back, and Malcolm realizes they’ve stopped walking.

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Wrong? There’s plenty of things wrong. He’s a useless bloody tactical officer, for one. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you don’t look-”

Malcolm doesn’t hear the rest. He’s aware only of the sensation of stabbing pain in his arm and he doubles over, groaning. Someone’s got their hand on his shoulder and is yelling his name and he wants to respond but he _can’t-_

Malcolm blinks. Just like in sickbay, everything returns to normal in less than a moment. Except, unlike the time in sickbay, Malcolm isn’t alone with the doctor.

At least he’s still standing, thank goodness.

“Malcolm?” Trip asks softly. Both his hands are gripping the lieutenant’s shoulders, probably the reason _why_ he didn’t fall to the ground. “Malcolm, what happened? And don’t ya dare say it was nothin’.”

Well, now he truly is sunk, isn’t he? He never wanted to give Trip any hope, fearful it would only make his inevitable departure worse on the engineer. Yet now Malcolm finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Pain,” he spits out finally. “In my arm.” Which, he notices, is now hanging limply out of the sling. He must have spasmed it out. “This has happened before.”

“It _has?_ ”

Malcolm winces at Trip’s sudden raise in volume. “Yes. When I went to see Phlox. He said it’s a-a muscle spasm. Means the muscle memory is coming back.”

As expected, Trip’s face splits into a wide grin. He takes Malcolm’s hands in his and shakes them. “You mean, yer gettin’ the feelin’ back?”

Malcolm shrugs.

“That’s great!” Trip exclaims. His voice echoes around the open hall over the museum. From behind them, Malcolm notices Nore grimace. “Yer healin’, Malcolm! That’s great. That’s great.”

“Indeed,” says Malcolm quietly. “Trip, could you please be a little quieter? I don’t need the whole bloody planet knowing.”

“O’ course. Sorry.” The engineer doesn’t stop smiling, though. Gently, he helps Malcolm put his arm back in the sling before turning to Nore. “Now, what else do you have in this place?”

“I believe our next exhibit showcases the more recent technologies of our culture,” Nore responds. “Unfortunately, our time is almost up, so we’ll have to be quick.”

“Sounds awesome,” says Trip. He turns to Malcolm and intertwines their fingers. “You a’right now?”

“Never better.”

Malcolm watches as Trip’s blue eyes go wide when they reach a model of the first Desani starship; as he babbles eagerly to Nore about the finer parts of engineer on Enterprise. Malcolm smiles as Trip goes off on a joyful rant about earth’s first warp five vessel, and he can almost forget what obstacles lie in their path.

Almost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of a rollercoaster.
> 
> A rather LONG rollercoaster.
> 
> Enjoy!

They make it back to the shuttlepod in one piece – Malcolm and Trip; Archer and Hoshi; Crewman Jones. Not a single complaint in any of their tales. Ensign Carter listens eagerly as Hoshi recounts she and Archer’s meeting with Minister Corsan, while Crewman Jones tells them all about the things she learned about the Desani culture. Trip rapidly blurts out information about the museum they toured, which Malcolm tunes out.

It’s not exactly a conscious choice- his arm is beginning to tingle again. He inclines forward slightly and tucks in on himself, hoping it won’t spasm again with everyone watching. Without meaning to, he screws his eyes shut as well.

“Malcolm?” Trip’s voice floats through the fog of concentration in Malcolm’s brain. “Malcolm? You okay?”

Malcolm forces his eyes open and nods silently. Across from him, Archer purses his lips in worry. “You sure, Lieutenant? You went a bit pale there.”

“Fine, sir.” Malcolm brings himself upright again and pretends not to notice the glances Hoshi and Jones are giving him. “Just a… weird sensation in my arm.”

“Like what happened down at th’ museum?” Trip asks good-naturedly.

Malcolm lets out a long, involuntary sigh, just as Archer inquires, “ _what_ happened at the museum?”

Trip looks to Malcolm, who raises an eyebrow. “Small spasm, Cap’n,” Trip explains finally. “His arm went flyin’ out of its sling like it burned.”

“It’s happened before,” Malcolm explains. “In sickbay. Phlox said it’s a sign the feeling is starting to come back. Something about muscle memory.” He leaves out the part about him smacking the doctor, of course.

“I see,” says Archer. A grin spreads across his face and he reaches across the shuttlepod, resting a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Sounds to me like you’re almost ready for full active duty, Lieutenant.”

“Still a ways to go, sir,” Malcolm breathes. They share a brief, knowing gaze.

Trip gives him a light shove. “I still don’t get why you didn’t tell me the first time, Malcolm.”

Malcolm swallows. “I didn’t-” _want to get your hopes up_ “-get the chance. It happened quite suddenly.”

“Well,” Trip chuckles, “you’ll tell me first thing the next time it happens, a’right?”

“Alright.”

“So,” Trip turns his attention back to Archer, “d’we have permission to see those ruins, Cap’n?”

“We do, indeed,” Archer confirms happily. “Though, we have been asked to share whatever information we deem necessary. The Desani haven’t had much of a chance to explore the Southern hemisphere as their physiology is not adaptive to the heat.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, sir,” says Crewman Jones. “When do we leave?”

“0900 hours tomorrow, crewman. We’ll need to prepare a few things first.”

Malcolm bites his lip to stop himself from asking the question everyone is predicting- _do we need a security officer?_

“So, tell me honestly,” Trip says as he wrestles with his shirt buttons, “on a scale of one to Malcolm Reed, how anxious are you that the Cap’n himself is going down to look at those ruins tomorrow?”

“ _What?”_ Malcolm spins in his desk chair, the half-finished letter to his sister still blinking on the computer monitor.

The corners of Trip’s mouth quirk up. “C’mon, don’t try an’ convince me otherwise. I can read ya like an open book.”

“I very much doubt that,” Malcolm snorts, “but if you must know, yes, I am quite anxious. A _Malcolm Reed_ level of anxious, if you will. However, as a security officer, it is my duty to be anxious whenever an away mission is involved. Guaranteed safety or not. One never knows what’s hiding around the next corner.”

“That sounds ominous,” remarks Trip.

Malcolm turns back to the monitor. Trying to send an audio message proved to be a challenge with Trip in his room, so he’s resorted to typing it by hand. “Has the captain figured out who’s going to be on the team yet?”

Trip throws his shirt onto the shelf above the bed and makes a point to count on his fingers. “Travis’ll be piloting; I know he wants Crewman Jones down again. Hoshi for translation. I believe at this point, it’s anyone who happens t’ be interested.” His face breaks into a large smile. “I’m gunna ask to join ‘em.”

Malcolm whirls around again. “And just what does the chief engineer need to be down there for?” he spits, much too harshly. Trip draws back and Malcolm immediately regrets his tone. “I guess what I’m saying,” he tries again, “is why do you feel it’s necessary?”

“It’s _not_ necessary,” Trip states shortly. “That’s the whole point. I want to explore some ancient ruins and get off the damn ship, Malcolm.”

“Running away from me?” Malcolm drawls playfully. He never meant for the commander to get so defensive.

Trip laughs and wraps his arms over Malcolm’s shoulders, kissing the side of his head lightly. “Never,” he whispers. “Now, why don’t ya unglue yerself from that computer an’ get some sleep?”

“I need to finish my letter to Maddie,” Malcolm replies. “Let her know what’s going…”

He trails off as a message alert from Archer comes through, titled _Starfleet Medical._

“What?” Trip asks, leaning over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Malcolm says quickly, dismissing the alert. He flashes Trip a smile and stands up. “You’re right. I could use some sleep.”

Trip eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t pry. _“Just_ sleep?” the engineer teases. “Yer not gunna kiss me goodnight?”

Malcolm’s face blushes as red as sixteen-year-old boys’. He pretends to consider his options. “Well…”

“I’m not givin’ you a choice.” Trip smirks and promptly shoves Malcolm down onto the bed before following suit, pressing their lips together in a yearning kiss. Malcolm reciprocates in earnest, letting himself melt away in Trip’s arms. He feels no anxiety or fear about the mission tomorrow. Right now, the only thing that matters is Trip. Trip’s hand in his; Trip’s lips against his own, trailing down his neck; Trip’s voice in his ear; “I love ya, Malcolm.”

Malcolm hears himself echoing the words back for the first time since they started their relationship.

“About time,” Trip whispers with a giggle. “Was beginnin’ to wonder when you’d say it.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” says Malcolm, burying himself against Trip’s chest, “but I’m not the outward-spoken type. Besides,” he adds with a grin, “don’t ruin the mood.”

Trip feigns a shocked gasp and Malcolm laughs.

“Only joking, Trip. I love you.”

“That’s twice, now. Really, what’s gotten into you Malcolm?”

“Not you.” The words are out before he can stop it and his face goes even redder, which he never thought possible. He feels Trip jerk in surprise when the meaning finally sinks in.

“Who _are_ you and what have you done with _Malcolm_?”

“Trip,” Malcolm barely just manages to get out, too consumed by laughter. Trip laughs along too, holding Malcolm closer to his chest and Malcolm can hear the engineer’s heart flutter. Trip plants a kiss on his head and Malcolm lets his eyes close.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

Malcolm is up bright and early at 0745, heading down the corridors at a determined pace. As expected, the captain is in his ready room, discussing the logistics of the away mission with subcommander T’Pol.

“Lieutenant,” Archer greets him in surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Requesting permission to be part of today’s away team, sir,” says Malcolm immediately. He assumes attention, ignoring the raised eyebrow T’Pol gives him.

“Malcolm,” Archer starts with an awkward chuckle, “I can assure you, there’s nothing dangerous in the vicinity. The team will be fine.”

“It’s not that, sir.” Malcolm swallows at the slight lie. “I just… want to be there.”

Archer blinks and clears his throat. It’s T’Pol who finally speaks.

“Whether or not his true intentions be spoken, it cannot hurt to be cautious.”

The implication that he’s lying stings in a way it has no right to. He _is_ lying, after all. Even if it’s only partially.

“Alright,” the captain says finally. “You’re on the team, Malcolm. Dismissed.”

Malcolm nods and slips out the door.

Trip catches him in the mess hall at 0830, grease already staining his uniform and face. “There ya are!” he calls, darting across the room to Malcolm’s table. “Woke up an’ you were gone.”

“The roles reversed this morning,” quips Malcolm with a raise of an eyebrow.

Trip laughs. “Sure. Well, don’t do that again. Yer lucky I didn’t accidentally get myself locked in yer quarters. Anyway,” he grabs a chair and sits next to Malcolm, “what had you up so early?”

“I had to speak with Captain Archer.”

“About?” Trip prods.

Malcolm clears his throat. “I, uh, requested to be a part of the away team.”

Trip stares at him as if he can’t believe his ears. “ _You_ asked the _Cap’n?_ ”

Malcolm nods.

“Well, ain’t this a weird day,” the commander exclaims. “I had ta practically drag ya yesterday, an’ now yer _askin’_ to come along.”

Malcolm only shrugs and smiles. “Perhaps I’m ‘coming out of my shell’.”

“Oh, that’ll be the day,” Trip teases. Malcolm only rolls his eyes.

At 0900 exactly, the away team groups up in the launch bay. By 0905, they’re already in the sky. Even from above, the ruins look absolutely stunning.

“Looks almost like a medieval ghost town,” Trip whispers in awe. He snaps a picture out the window.

“Save the photoshoot for when we land, commander,” Hoshi says.

Malcolm looks between them and smiles, though he isn’t sure if it’s from being around friends or if he’s only comfortable because of the phase pistol at his hip.

When they land, Malcolm instinctively jumps forward to volunteer to go first. However, Trip holds him back with a shake of his head. Archer and Hoshi step out of the shuttlepod, followed by the rest of them a few seconds later.

They’re about a hundred metres from the ruins, the nearest clearing they could find. Malcolm’s hand does not leave his phase pistol as they walk through the trees.

Trip elbows him and offers a lopsided grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s safe, Malcolm. The only biosigns down here are our own.”

“Right,” Malcolm hisses. Shaking the sense of foreboding off, he forces himself to focus on the details of the ruins.

Hoshi traces her fingers lightly over the stone carvings, mouth open in awe. Malcolm can’t read a word of the writing, but he has to admit, the structures are stunning. “And they date back to before the Desani settled up north?”

“Indeed,” Archer says, rather smugly. “There is some speculation as to where they came from. The rumours range from aliens from outer space-”

“Which could actually be plausible,” Trip chimes in quietly.

“-to ancient tribes that used to be able to survive on the Southern continent.”

“It looks like there was indeed a tribe,” says Hoshi, “though they’re long gone by now. Look.” She points to one particular etching in the stone, which appears to symbolize a crowd and a creature which looks like a bear towering over them. “I can’t be sure, but I think it says that some sort of monster came and disrupted their way of life.”

“A monster?” Trip’s tone is laced with doubt. “From where? Is it a kraken?”

Malcolm snorts.

“No, Commander.” Hoshi feigns annoyance. “Again, I can’t quite be sure, but these seem to symbolize that they morphed from the trees.”

“From the _trees_?” Malcolm repeats.

Hoshi gives an innocent smile and nods. “Right here.”

She moves a couple of steps to the left and points at another etching. Off to one side is a tree, and next to it is an image of the same monster from the earlier inscription- mid transformation. Malcolm gives a noise of disgust. “Frightening.”

“For the locals, it probably was,” Hoshi says.

Trip squints at the etching and smirks. “Monsters from the trees, huh? Well, given what we’ve run into, I’m inclined t’ believe ‘em.”

Hoshi moves on to some more interesting carvings, while Malcolm wanders over to the only structure that still has its walls standing. Trip, of course, follows along just behind.

“This looks like it was once a kitchen,” says Malcolm, pointing to a fire pit. Trip ventures along the perimeter while Malcolm walks inside, cautious of what remains of the roof. Very little of the interior has survived, save for a few strands of rotting fabric that were possibly part of a rug at one point. There’s an ancient stove on one wall.

Malcolm leaves pretty quickly when the roof begins to shift.

“Glad you came along?” Trip asks, leaning against a rock.

Malcolm shrugs. “It’s pretty neat. Like visiting a pre-warp culture without worrying about contamination.” They all knew how _that_ had turned out last time.

“Sir?” Crewman Jones calls out suddenly, her voice wobbling.

“Yes, crewman?” Archer asks, apparently having heard Jones’ tone. “What is it?”

“Sir, I’m…” she trails off, tapping on her scanner, before resuming her sentence. “I’m picking up on a biosignature.”

Malcolm draws his pistol as soon as the words are out of the crewman’s mouth. “Where?” he demands.

“I can’t pinpoint it,” she says regretfully.

Trip frowns and glances to Malcolm. “Malcolm, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

When the ground gives a small jerk, Trip looks as if he wants to stuff the words back into his mouth. “What was that?” the engineer gasps out. Malcolm turns on his heel, hand clamping around his phase pistol. Something catches the corner of his eye and he whirls towards it, finger on the trigger, ready to fire.

Then his whole body goes cold.

Malcolm watches as the tree begins to twist before his very eyes, the brown bark sprouting fur seemingly out of nowhere; rows and rows of eyes snapping open. From behind him, he hears Jones and Hoshi gasp simultaneously.

“Sir, that’s the creature on these carvings,” the linguist exclaims.

At the sound of a voice, the creature turns to her. Fear covers Hoshi’s face; the scanner drops from her hand. Malcolm knows what he has to do to distract the creature.

Unfortunately, Trip beats him to the punch.

“Leave ‘er alone!” the commander yells, waving his arms and running away from the rest of them. “Yeah, you ugly bastard, over here!”

The creature tilts its head, a large, snaking tongue smacking at its lips.

Then it charges at Trip.

Malcolm raises his left arm but it’s shaking so much, and the creature moves surprisingly fast for its’ size and the first shot goes right over its’ head. Jones comes running up, setting her own phase pistol to kill despite having received no orders to do so. _At least_ someone _is concerned for your bloody boyfriends’ safety,_ a harsh voice snarls in the back of Malcolm’s mind, making his breathing hitch.

He can only watch in horror as the creature charges at Trip; teeth bared. He can only watch as Trip’s eyes widen and ever so briefly flicker to Malcolm’s, a look what can be nothing but utter betrayal in them. It’s this betrayal that causes Malcolm to act, but it’s a second too late, and the creature has already slashed at Trip by the time Malcolm’s adjusted his phase pistol.

The engineer’s screams ring through the forest, causing a flock of nearby birds to take off. Malcolm knows he’ll be hearing the screams in his nightmares tonight.

It’s not even him who gets the target- his arm is shaking too much. It’s Captain Archer, from the other side of the creature, his precision and focus far surpassing Malcolm's own. The creature gives a howl of pain and collapses onto its side, thankfully not on top of Trip's limp form.

The ground thunders as the creature falls and Malcolm drop to his knees- though is it from the shaking or from his own shock? He doesn’t know. Tears blur his vision. He can’t move his legs. It's selfish, and he knows it, but he can't bring himself to even _approach_ the Commander.

Could it have been last night they were laughing in each other’s arms? Could it have been a mere hour ago that they had their breakfast together? Could it have been only minutes since Malcolm last saw Trip with a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face?

Malcolm feels sick to his stomach, unable to do anything but watch as Archer and Crewman Jones kneel at Trip’s side. Archer yells for Phlox through his communicator. Malcolm can’t tear his gaze away.

A hand rests on his shoulder. Hoshi.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, but she’s crying too.

It _his_ fault that she’s crying, he realizes. It’s his fault that he couldn’t kill the bloody creature- that he couldn’t protect Trip in time. Hell, if he’d just withdrawn when Starfleet asked, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

He has one job aboard Enterprise. And he's failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not dead, don't worry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Scottie, what have you done?

Malcolm feels like he’s in one of those bloody 21st century crime dramas, hearing Phlox spout medical terms as they race down the hall with Trip on a stretcher. It seems so cliché that Malcolm half expects to wake up.

Unfortunately, he’s not dreaming.

The scuffle doesn’t slow when they reach sickbay. Phlox barks for a hypospray of something from Crewman Cutler, who rushes over before he’s even finished his sentence. By now, Hoshi has left in tears, but Captain Archer remains, looking pretty close to crying himself.

Malcolm forces himself to look at Trip- it’s the least he owes the man.

The tree creature, whatever it was, took a pretty nasty slash at Trip before it went down. The claw marks stretch from his neck to his lower abdomen; bleeding profusely through his clothes. Trip’s face is flushed and beads of sweat dot along his forehead.

“It may have had venom in its claws,” Malcolm hears Phlox say, as if reading his thoughts. “I’ll have to run some scans to be sure, but it seems likely.”

“Do what you can,” Archer says grimly.

Malcolm can feel the Archer’s eyes drilling into the back of his head and he knows the captain blames him just as much as Malcolm blames himself though.

 _Blame won’t get ya anywhere,_ he hears Trip’s voice whisper in his head. _Now’s not the time for blame._

Malcolm reaches forward and takes Trip’s hand, careful not to hurt him more than he already is. “You’ll be alright,” he says softly. “You can get through this.”

“Lieutenant.” Phlox gives him a regretful gaze and Malcolm releases Trip’s hand. He watches through clouded eyes as he’s wheeled into surgery.

Malcolm turns to leave – to bury himself in his work until Phlox can emerge with news – only to smack into a rock-solid Captain Archer. Malcolm lifts his gaze to meet the Captains’ and for a moment, it’s his father standing in front of him, telling him how much of a disappointment he is.

“Lieutenant Reed,” Archer says coldly, dragging Malcolm back to reality. “My ready room. Now.”

He doesn’t have to guess where this is going. “Yes, sir.”

He follows the captain like a schoolchild on his way to the principal’s office; keeping his head low and his eyes on the floor. When they reach the ready room and close the door behind them, Archer wastes no time in getting right to the point.

“What the _hell,_ Lieutenant?”

He expected it, yet Malcolm jumps at the harshness in Archer’s tone.

“What the hell was all that on the planet about?”

“I-I-”

“I thought you _told_ me you were cleared to shoot with your left hand.” He takes a step dangerously close to Malcolm. “Or did you lie?”

“I wasn’t lying, sir!” Malcolm insists. He still won’t look Archer in the eye. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I saw that shot go right over that thing’s _head!_ ” Archer barks. “You were hitting the broad side of a barn, Lieutenant. I _thought_ you were the most capable security officer on this ship.”

The words hurt like he’s been punched in the gut. Malcolm forces himself to breath evenly as he whispers, “I thought so, too, sir.”

The silence between them is heavy. Eventually, Archer collapses into a chair and holds his head in his hands. “You asked to come along,” he starts quietly. “You asked to be on this mission. Why? And don’t say ‘because you wanted to’ because we both know that’s a goddamn lie.”

Malcolm draws in a shaky breath. “Because I wanted to be with Trip, sir.”

Archer’s gaze snaps up. “Trip?”

“He and I…” Malcolm swallows. “We-we’ve been… getting closer over the last, er, few weeks. Ever since the explosion, sir. One thing led to another and…” he trails off, still not meeting the captain’s gaze.

“I see,” says Archer. “What happened to ‘fraternization has no place on a starship’?”

“Perhaps, under your command, I have become more lenient. Sir.”

Archer gives him a sharp glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not what you’re thinking, sir,” says Malcolm quickly. “I, in no way, blame you for what happened to Commander Tucker.” A pause. “In fact, I believe we both find fault in the same person.”

Archer gets to his feet, the chair scratching against the floor. “Malcolm-”

“If it’s alright with you, sir,” Malcolm interrupts, “I would like to return to my work in the armoury. I have yet to refit those scanners I told you about.”

Archer closes his mouth, then opens it . Then closes it. Then opens it again and says, “dismissed.”

Malcolm nods and steps out into the corridor, but he doesn’t head to the armoury. Not even stopping to greet the ensigns in his path, he heads right for his quarters, closes the door and leans against it. He slides slowly onto the floor, unable to support this own weight any longer. It’s there that he lets himself break.

Everyone in the room has red eyes- minus T’Pol, of course. None of them acknowledge this fact. They are all perfectly happy to completely ignore it.

“It seems,” the science officer begins, pointing to a reading on the screen, “that these creatures have the ability to put their functions to almost a complete stop, resulting in them being invisible on sensors. We would not be able to pick them up unless we were near one.”

“Like I was,” Crewman Jones says glumly.

“I’ve confirmed that these are the same creatures which attacked the southern settlers,” Hoshi chimes in. She slides a PADD across the table in Archer’s direction. “This particular sequence of carvings tells the story of a family who went for a stroll in the woods and never came back. Some witnesses say they saw the trees watching them when the search party launched.”

“Disturbing,” Malcolm mutters; his only contribution to the meeting thus far. No one pays him any heed.

“The next couple of sequences don’t pertain to this, but the fifth one down speaks of creatures that would emerge from the trees themselves and attack the villagers. It seems those who tried to run weren’t heard from again.”

“Resulting in the extinction of these ancient southern Desani,” T’Pol concludes. “Do the northern Desani have any knowledge of these… creatures?”

“Not that I can tell,” the linguist says. “There’s nothing in their mythology; their history. It seems these tree creatures just can’t survive, or perhaps refuse to live, up on the Northern continent.”

“How have they survived all this time?” Crewman Jones asks.

“I am unable to provide an answer at this moment, crewman,” T’Pol states calmly. “However, the most likely conclusion would be that they can get their nutrients some other way- as opposed to eating those who happen across their path.”

Malcolm suddenly feels sick. “Eat?”

All eyes turn to him, as if remembering he were there.

“They _eat_ their victims?” Malcolm clarifies. Around the room, the others’ expressions shift too.

“Yes,” T’Pol answers, as plain as ever. “Based on my analysis of the underground-”

But Malcolm has already left the room.

 _Walking out during a staff meeting?_ taunts a voice in his head. _How unprofessional. What would the Captain say?_

He could care less about what the Captain would say- as shocking as that sounds to hear himself think that. In his mind, a decision is already being made.

But he has to see Trip first.

The panic in sickbay has certainly died down. Malcolm spots the commander immediately: he’s lying on the nearest biobed, bandages wrapped around his torso all the way to his neck. Malcolm’s breath catches and he wonders if this is what Trip felt when he saw Malcolm on the biobed all those weeks ago.

“Ah, Lieutenant!” Phlox chirps happily. A good sign, it seems.

“Is he okay?” Malcolm asks quietly, gesturing to Trip.

Phlox gives a wide grin and nods. “He’s fine. I managed to stitch the wounds right up and get the toxin out of his body. There may be some lingering effects, but nothing life threatening.”

“When will he wake up?” Malcolm knows he shouldn’t rush the process. It’s only been four hours since the incident, after all, but the anxiety is suffocating.

“Oh, he should be coming around in a day or two.”

“Already ‘wake,” comes a drowsy voice from across the room. Malcolm does a slow turn as Phlox bustles over to the commander’s side, telling him he should be resting. Trip pays attention to exactly none of this. Instead, his eyes catch Malcolm’s and a lazy grin crosses his face. “Mal! C’mere.”

“Only if you promise not to call me ‘Mal’,” Malcolm teases. The image of Trip staring at him, eyes full of betrayal, invades his mind without warning. He pushes it away. “How are you feeling?”

Trip stares down at himself; at the bandages around his torso. “Like a mummy,” he says finally. “A very… sore mummy.”

Malcolm scoffs. “I’m not surprised.”

“Commander,” Phlox warns in his mother-like tone, “I must insist that you rest. Your body is much to weak to be moving around right now.”

“But I can’t,” Trip whines. “I gotta be at practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah.” Trip struggles to get off the bed. “Football. Can’t be late. Gotta… gotta practice.”

Phlox looks to Malcolm for help, but Malcolm just shrugs. “Delirium?”

Phlox fills a hypospray with a sedative and injects it into Trip’s bloodstream. The commander falls asleep with a sigh, a smile still dancing on his lips. “Anesthetic must have worn off faster than expected,” the doctor thinks aloud. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you can’t speak to him at the moment.”

“Quite alright,” Malcolm reassures him with a strained smile. “I need to get back to my quarters anyway.”

“I thought you had a meeting to attend?” Phlox asks in confusion.

Malcolm chooses not to answer this. One thing would lead to the next and Phlox would try and talk him out of it, and Malcolm can’t afford to be talked out of it. For the safety of the ship – for _Trip’s_ safety – he has to make the right decision.

He doesn’t go to Archer right away. He responds to Maddie first to inform her of the situation, sending the message before he can change his mind, then digs up the messages between Starfleet, the captain, and him.

Trip wakes up for real the next day; Malcolm hears it from Hoshi. “He’s asking for you,” the linguist says hopefully. Malcolm, not looking up from his computer screen, says, “maybe later.”

It breaks Hoshi’s heart just as much as it breaks his own.

 _You owe it to him,_ sneers a voice in his head. _You’re running away, and you can’t even find the courage to see him_ once _? Father was right. You’re just a coward who shies away at his problems._

He tries to convince himself that it’s _not_ because he’s running away. He really isn’t sure he could stand to look at Trip, and the condition he’s in, for longer than five seconds without bursting into tears. And then Trip would ask what’s wrong and Malcolm would have to tell him because, honestly, he can’t keep anything to himself once the emotions are out there in the open, and then Trip would be crying too and Malcolm…

Malcolm snaps out of it. He’s already promised he wouldn’t let anyone talk him out of it, least of all himself.

Eventually, though, he gives into the pressure his crewmates are giving him. He visits Trip.

For once, the universe does something right. The Commander is sound asleep when Malcolm enters sickbay. Some colour has begun to return to his face and his breathing is easier. Malcolm glances around, searching for Phlox, and when he can’t find the doctor, he pulls up a chair next to Trip’s bed.

“Hey, Trip,” Malcolm whispers to the unconscious man. There isn’t much else he can say so he just sits there awkwardly, fiddling with his hands. _There’s no point,_ he thinks. He stands up to leave, which is when the monitor above the biobed beeps, indicating increased brain activity.

 _Should leave before he wakes up._ But Malcolm isn’t even finished taking his first step when Trip’s voice calls weakly, “Malcolm?”

Malcolm sighs, plasters on a smile, and turns out. “Yeah?”

Trip’s grinning at him, his eyes at half mast. “’Bout time,” he slurs. “Been waitin’ for days.”

“Busy,” Malcolm lies. He reseats himself on the chair. “I saw you a while ago, but you were pretty out of it. How are you feeling?”

Trip closes his eyes. “High,” he responds after a pause. “I guess Phlox’s got me on a shitload o’ painkillers.”

“It was a nasty wound.”

“Stung like a bitch.” Trip’s blue eyes open again and focus on Malcolm. “Thanks fer savin’ me.”

Malcolm feels his stomach lurch. “Actually,” he whispers. “You should be thanking the Captain. I was pretty much useless during the whole thing.”

Trip frowns. “Naw, I coulda sworn…”

“It was the captain, Trip,” Malcolm says, just a little too loudly. “Captain Archer saved you. I couldn’t even aim properly.”

The room is silent as Trip considers this. “Well,” he finally says, “I s’pose that’s a given. Yer still not used to shootin’ with yer left arm.”

“Trip, that’s not-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Malcolm,” the commander interrupts. “Quit feelin’ guilty already.”

Malcolm sighs and looks down at his hands. _You promised you wouldn’t let him talk you out of it,_ taunts the voice in the back of his head. Realizing this wasn’t such a good idea, he says aloud, “I have some work to do. Sorry, Trip.”

“Well, at least kiss me goodbye!” Trip smirks and struggles onto his elbows.

Gently, Malcolm leans forward and presses their lips together.

“That’s better,” Trip says quietly. “Alright, yer dismissed now, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Malcolm lets his forced smile drop the moment he leaves sickbay and he practically dashes for his quarters, trying not to cry.

Two days later, Malcolm is walking down the corridors with an unreadable expression, a PADD clutched so tight in his hand that his knuckles are turning white. In the end, he won against the guilt in his chest.

He turns the corner and rings the Captain’s doorbell, waiting anxiously for the confirmation to enter. When it comes, he steps inside and hands the PADD to Archer before he can say anything, then assumes attention stance and says the six words he’d been practicing in the mirror for hours: “I’ve chosen to withdraw from duty.”


	6. Chapter 6

Trip didn’t believe it when Captain Archer informed him. He thought it was a joke- perhaps one in bad taste, but Malcolm never was one for personal awareness. In fact, one part of him still hopes it’s a joke, even now as he leans against the wall, watching Malcolm speak quietly to Captain Archer down in the launch bay.

An arrangement was made where _Enterprise_ and a Vulcan ship known as V’Tas would meet midway. Malcolm would be transferred and taken to Earth by the V’Tas, allowing _Enterprise_ to continue her journey without as much of a drawback.

Though it took less than a week to reach the halfway point, it felt like an eternity. Malcolm refused to come out of his quarters half the time, apparently already accepting his new duty-free life. Trip rarely saw him, and every time they caught each other in the halls, Malcolm would veer away.

_“I can’t do my job anymore,”_ Malcolm had said a few days ago, sitting beside Trip’s bed in sickbay. _“I’m no longer a valuable asset to this ship and her crew. If I ever was one.”_

_“Malcolm-”_

_“I don’t need you to talk me out of it, Commander. I have made my decision and Captain Archer supports it.”_

Trip had yelled at the captain the next time he’d seen him. Unfortunately, Archer’s hands were tied. “ _Ultimately, it’s his decision, and I can’t force anything on him.”_

“You are looking pale, Commander,” Phlox observes from beside Trip. “Do you need to go lie down?”

“Can’t do that,” Trip snaps. “I can’t leave ‘im.”

Malcolm finishes his talk with Archer and the two exchange a rather awkward handshake, before Malcolm picks up his satchel and slings it around his shoulder. Trip takes this as his cue and stumbles towards him. “Hey.”

Malcolm startles a bit. “Commander,” he breathes. “What are you doing here?”

“The hell is that supposed t’ mean? I’m here t’ see you off, is what.”

“Oh.” Malcolm’s gaze drops to the floor.

Trip feels his smile falter. “Malcolm? You okay?”

“Fine,” Malcolm replies in a careful, monotone voice. “Sorry, commander. I didn’t-”

“It’s Trip.”

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Malcolm finishes, not using the nickname. It hurts Trip like a knife to the chest, but he soldiers on.

“A week on a Vulcan ship,” Trip comments. “You sure you’ll survive?”

“I’ve lived through much worse.”

Trip’s joke is lost in Malcolm’s pessimistic view of the world. He sighs. “Look, Malcolm. Bein’ honest, I’m still not quite sure why yer doin’ this.”

“Because I can’t-”

Trip waves his hand. “Yeah, yeah, ya don’t hafta repeat it. Anyway, Malcolm, a bit o’ distance never hurt anyone, did it?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean,” Trip blurts on, “it didn’t work with me an’ Natalie, but that was different. Who’s to say we can’t make it work, right?”

The meaning finally sinking in, Malcolm takes a deep, unsteady breath, and Trip’s stomach turns. “Commander,” Malcolm starts in a whisper, “I’m sorry, I should have made this clear when I first saw you. I’m afraid I can’t… keep this relationship going.”

_This can’t be happenin’,_ Trip thinks. His mouth has gone dry; his mind is blank. What does he say to this? What _can_ he say to this?

“It’s nothing you did, Trip,” Malcolm adds hurriedly. “In fact, you were nothing but… well, nothing but a perfect gentleman.”

“Naw, don’t give me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ crap. I’ve heard it way too many times.”

Malcolm’s gaze snaps up in frustration, unshed tears shining in his eyes as he says, “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already _have,_ Trip.”

And with that, the truth is out. For a moment they can only stare at each other, until Trip gets his brain running again.

“Hurt me?” Trip whispers. “Malcolm, you haven’t-”

But the Lieutenant turns and rushes down the steps without so much of a second glance. Trip moves to follow, his heart heavy, only to feel a hand hold him back. “Cap’n,” he chokes out. He leans hard against the railing and breathes heavily. Archer shakes his head sadly. Finally, Trip’s legs give out and he collapses to the floor. “But…”

“Don’t forget that he’s coming back,” Archer says. He sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself more so than Trip. “He’s not gone forever.”

_He might as well be,_ Trip thinks.

Trip’s eyes are glued to the V’Tas outside as Phlox helps him to his feet. He watches as shuttlepod one, the very shuttlepod he was stuck on with Malcolm however long ago, docks with the ship. He tries to imagine Malcolm looking out the back window- looking back at _him._ The image seems just too unrealistic to conjure.

The shuttlepod undocks and begins its’ journey back to _Enterprise_ and the V’Tas jumps to warp without a second’s hesitation.

“Let’s get you back to sickbay, commander,” Phlox says. Trip nods numbly and forces himself to turn away, his heart as empty as the space outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this is not the end! I have a third fic currently in the works that should be out within July sometime. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


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